“Papa, laim!”
Deedee's clear little voice just cut what I was thinkin' into two pieces. I was into that bedroom in about two steps. Deedee was standin' up in her crib.
“Papa, laim?” she says, sort of anxious.
“No!” I says, stern in earnest. “No laim!”
“Papa, laim!” she demands.
“No!” I says, in a way that froze her smile right where it was. She looked up at me doubtful-like, her little pink and white chin puckered up all ready to cry.
“Papa, laim, laim!” she pleaded.
I reached over and forced her right back on to her pillow.
“Deedee!” I says, in a voice that was new and that she wasn't acquainted with; “go to sleep! Be quiet! Stop this instant, or I will SPANK you!”
I guess, mebby, the angels kept on singin' as joyful as ever up in Heaven. I guess, mebby, somewhere out west further, the sun was shinin' down gay on noddin', careless flowers. Mebby, even in the next block, some good baby was bein' snuggled up in its ma's arms; but to Deedee, lyin' in the corner of her crib, the world had got a million years older in about a minute. Her world that had been all smiles and pleasant things had turned into a world of hard words and cruel faces. Her mama dear had on a mask of unfeelin' coldness. Her papa dear stood up there towerin' above her, a sort of giant of wrath, flourishin' an awful, mysterious weapon, the word “spank.”